feet pounded against the asphalt of the road, she imagined dark shapes gliding across the lawn in pursuit. At last she reached the great double doors, her breath coming in heaves, and her mind reeling with the sinister figures she had conjured from the darkness. There didn’t seem to be a bell, and she took no time to search for one, pounding on the door as hard as she could.
After a few moments, the door opened to the dimly lit hallway, and there stood Alban, incongruous but safe- looking in his red sweatshirt and faded jeans.
“Elizabeth, what a pleasant-What’s wrong? Are you crying?”
Without waiting for an answer, he shepherded her into his study and settled her onto the velvet loveseat. “Now, you just sit right there and take deep breaths,” he advised her. “Don’t talk!” He went to the sideboard, took out a cup and saucer, and began to arrange spoons and napkins on a tray.
“No coffee, please!” she called to him. “I’ve been drinking it all day!” Her voice broke as she finished.
“I am fixing you tea,” said Alban, pouring water into a small china teapot. “You cannot drink and cry at the same time. Scientific fact. So you’re going to drink. And then you’ll tell me what this is all about.”
He brought the tray over, and set it down on the marble-top table beside the loveseat.
Elizabeth took a few tentative sips of the tea. She settled back against the cushions and concentrated on untensing her muscles. Somewhat to her surprise, Alban was not hovering. Instead he poured himself some tea, then walked to his desk and returned his attention to the checkbook and bank statement in front of him. Elizabeth watched as he worked.
There was very little family resemblance among the Chandler cousins. The Chandler genes must be recessive, she thought. Their looks ranged from the tall, sandy blondness of Bill MacPherson to the Scotch-Irish look of Alban: a short, trim Celt, with dark hair against too-white skin and cold blue eyes. Eileen had been the middle ground: mousy. Elizabeth decided that she looked more like Alban and Geoffrey-the dark Celts of the family. The Highlanders of Clan MacPherson would approve, she thought to herself, and she smiled for the first time in several hours. Alban looked up just then and returned her smile. “Feeling any better, fair lady?”
“As much as I’m going to,” Elizabeth replied. “I have some bad news, Alban.”
He heard the urgency in her tone and stopped smiling. “Tell me. What’s wrong?”
“Eileen is dead! They think it was murder, and the sheriff was here, and-”
“Stop. Right there. You’re going off again. Take another sip of tea.”
Elizabeth picked up her cup, and gulped a swallow of tea. After taking a deep breath to compose herself, she recounted the day’s events, ending with Captain Grandfather’s news of the sheriff’s call to say that Eileen had been murdered.
“… which was just a little while ago, and then I came over to tell you. It was dark outside, and I was about halfway here when I suddenly realized that the murderer might still be around. I just panicked. When you opened the door-I was never so glad to see anybody in my whole life!”
But Alban was not listening anymore. He stared down at the rug as if she were no longer there.
“Alban?” said Elizabeth, touching his shoulder. “Alban!”
“How do they know?” he murmured.
“Know what?”
“That she was-that somebody put her in the boat. How do they know?”
“Oh.” He was looking at her again, but his attention was now on the events themselves, not on comforting her. Stifling a flicker of annoyance, Elizabeth answered, “The lab report said that she had been hit on the head. But they seem to think it was the snake that actually killed her. Do you think the killer knew that the snake was in the boat?”
Alban shook his head, uninterested in the question. “Poor Eileen. You know, every year, Miss Brunson from the high school brings her class up here when they’re studying
Elizabeth nodded, wondering what this had to do with Eileen.
“I give them a tour of this place-even though it has nothing at all to do with Scotland. And well, she even talked me into reading the Tomorrow soliloquy for them this year.” He smiled, remembering himself at the top of the staircase quoting Shakespeare to thirty restless seniors. “I started with the line ‘She should have died hereafter.’ That’s what this made me think of. That line-‘She should have died hereafter.’ ”
“I know.”
“How are they taking it?” he asked.
Elizabeth frowned. “Oh, different ways, but they’re putting up a good front.”
“Is there anything I can do, do you think?”
“The sheriff will probably want to talk to you tomorrow. And you might try to keep Satisky occupied. He’s underfoot, nauseating everybody with quotes. In fact, when we found her body, he started spouting poetry. From
“Oh, you recognized it?”
“No. Geoffrey told me later. But I thought it was very insensitive of him. Oh, another thing you might do, Alban, is to tell your mother about this…”
“Tell me what?” Louisa, bundled in a lavender bathrobe, stood smiling in the doorway. “Oh, tea! Splendid!”
Alban brought her another cup, and she poured tea for herself. “Now what is this all about?” she demanded.
“I’m afraid it’s bad news, Mother.”
“Well-are you going to tell me or not?”
They told her, in rambling and what they believed to be diplomatic terms. Louisa, however, immediately pressed for details.
“Who do you suppose did it?” asked Louisa with lively interest. “Are the migrant workers here yet?”
“Mother!”
“Well, who else could it have been? That nervous young man she’s engaged to? I don’t see why he’d do it. It wasn’t as if she had been unfaithful to him, like-”
“Mother, the sheriff will take care of the investigation!” said Alban sharply. “I think we should worry about what we can do to help Uncle Robert, don’t you?”
“Yes, Alban,” said Louisa in a more subdued tone. “It’s such a shame. Eileen did so want to be happy. I don’t think she would have been with that young man of hers, but I wish she had been given the chance anyway.” She walked to the desk and began to rearrange the roses in a crystal vase. “Why is it that every time Amanda and I plan a wedding, something terrible happens? How is Amanda, by the way?”
“She went up to her room and we haven’t seen her since,” said Elizabeth.
“Just like her. Oh dear, Alban, do you think the white roses are past their prime? Or should we just go with the red?”
Elizabeth stood up. “I’d really better be getting back,” she whispered to Alban.
“All right. I’ll walk you to the door,” said Alban, following her into the hall.
“Just to the door?”
“I’d better stay with Mother. Why? Are you so afraid?” Then he smiled and patted her shoulder. “Oh, you’ll be safe, Cousin Elizabeth. As long as you stay off of boats. Now, do you want me to walk you back?”
“No,” murmured Elizabeth. “I guess I don’t.”
With a hasty good night, she let herself out the front door, and hurried across the dark road.
By the time she remembered to worry about lurking murderers she had arrived at the front door of the Chandler house. The porch light had been left on for her, and the door was unlocked. She closed the front door as quietly as possible and tiptoed down the hall.
“Is that you, Elizabeth?” called a voice from the kitchen.
She peeped around the corner and saw that the kitchen light was on. “Geoffrey?” she called out in a stage whisper.
“No. It’s me. Charles. I found some cookies. Want some?”
He was sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk.
“Well, maybe just one,” said Elizabeth, taking the other chair. “Thank you for waiting up for me.”
“Nah. Had to get up to answer the phone anyway. Your brother’s roommate called. He said Bill wasn’t back yet, and since it was getting so late, he’d have him call first thing in the morning. Want a glass of milk?”
